MY OWN PERSONAL BRAND OF CRAZY
by SupernaturallyEgocentric
Summary: I like Firefly. And Nathan Fillion. But. I LOVE SUPERNATURAL. LOVE IT. Therefore, in any contest of any kind, Supernatural is gonna win. Don't hate me.
1. Chapter 1

"Sam!" I tore through the front door, slamming and locking it behind me. "Dean!"

"_Sam! Dean_!" Buster squawked from his cage.

"_Son of a bitch_!" Sookie pecked ferociously at her perch across the room.

I exchanged beak kisses with my little feathered crew. "Hey, Birds! Where are the dogs? And the Hotties?"

_ "Son of a bitch!" _Sookie repeated wrathfully.

A roar from upstairs. "_Leigh Ann_! Upstairs, woman!"

I grinned madly and raced for the stairs. Oh, be still, my beating heart!

My two hot little bookends were lying side by side on the massive king-sized bed in the bedroom - an empty pizza box between them, Henry and Max panting at their feet and _Gilligan's Island _blaring from the 54-inch horizontal HDTV big-screen television I'd sold my soul for.

The boys were wearing blue jeans and nothing else. _Woof_.

"Stud Muffins!"

"Babe!" The Stud Muffins shouted in welcoming chorus.

I jumped onto the bed, squeezing in between them, and tossed the pizza box onto the floor. Henry and Max wiggled in close, slathering me with enthusiastic doggy kisses, then jumped off the bed and went to work chewing on the discarded box.

"Sorry," Sam apologized. "We didn't save you any." He looked accusingly at Dean. "_Someone_ got greedy."

"No prob." I gave him a big smacking kiss on the cheek. "There's some leftover KFC in the fridge."

Dean flicked at nervous glance at me, then looked back at the T.V., very carefully not looking at the empty chicken container sitting next to the television.

I sighed, hungry, but not angry. It took a lot of food to maintain their level of Oh My Freaking God hotness.

"Listen, you two, I've got an awesome idea."

"What?" Dean perked up. "Story kind of awesome?"

"Exactly! I love doing those drabble challenges, I'm still totally doing those. But I thought some crossover challenges might be fun, too." I nudged Dean. "You know, like last night with Elena."

"That was fun." He smiled reminiscently. "She was sexy."

"Until she lost her head," Sam snickered.

I patted Dean on the arm. "You did great, sweetie. Little Miss Goody Two-Shoes never looked better! Anyway, we could have people request a crossover drabble with other shows - oh, like _Aliens_, or _Battlestar_ _Galactica_ or – I don't know, _Justified_ - whatever!"

"You've never even _seen_ the new Battlestar." Sam objected.

I rolled my eyes in exasperation. "That's why it's a _challenge_.

"_Project Runway_?" Dean asked hopefully. "_America's Next Top Model_?"

I shook my head, shuddering. "No reality shows."

"But –"

"Forget it. And no talk shows. Or soap operas. Gotta draw the line somewhere." I threw myself back on the mountain of pillows and closed my eyes, hugging myself in delighted anticipation. "This is gonna be fun."

Dead silence from the Delectable Duo.

I opened my eyes, saw them signing frantically at each other.

"_What_?"

"Well," Sam said hesitantly, hazel eyes working overtime on empathy. "What if no one challenges you?"

"Life couldn't be that cruel." I shrugged. "And if it is, then I'll just have to keep picking on Elena. And that other guy, the one she's been boffing for the last few years. What the hell's his name?"

"Stephen!" The Winchesters replied, way too quickly.

I eyed them narrowly.

"Hey!" Dean said excitedly. "Maybe they'll send us to Forks!" He gave me his own, extremely effective, version of Sam's puppy dog eyes. "Do you think they'll send us to Forks?"

"Those vamps and werewolves don't kill humans," Sam said dismissively. "We can't kill them."

"Yeah, well, neither did Elena," Dean cackled. "And look what super freak here did to _her_."

"She was super irritating," I said in my defense. "I can't _stand_ martyrs!"

"That's true," Dean nodded sagely. "Apart from the sexy, chick was a total dishrag."

"So are you guys are cool with it?" I said eagerly. "The crossover challenges?"

The Hounds of Hotness raised an inquiring eyebrow at each other.

"One condition," Dean said, walking two fingers teasingly up my calf to my knee.

I smacked his hand. "No touching during negotiations!"

Dean raised his hands in surrender, grinning unrepentantly.

"Name your terms," I said, keeping my eyes open for any untoward touchy feely.

"If they do send us to Forks, I want more than a hundred words. If I have to put up with that sparkly shit, I wanna have some fun."

"Deal!" Grinning, I raised both hands and got a double high-five from the McTasty Twins.

"Okay, then. Moving on!" I pulled out my cell phone. "I'm starving. Sweet and sour shrimp work for everyone?"


	2. Viva Miami!

Dean blinked his way awake, a bright light in his eyes and a vicious pounding in his skull.

Once the fog had mostly cleared away, he tried to move, which was pretty much a no-go. He was tied down to a table. Legs. Arms. His whole _body_. Even his head. He was secured with freaking plastic and duct tape!Couldn't move an inch.

"Sam?" he finally managed to croak, hoping his brother wouldn't answer.

A man appeared above him and after a moment, Dean recognized him as one of the crime scene techs he'd met a few days before. David? Dillon?

Dexter.

The _cop_? The cop is our guy?

The man held a thin blade in his right hand. There was a complete lack of anything human in his eyes. "Dean Winchester, right?" he asked.

_Oh, fuck me._

"Took me a while to figure it out," Dexter went on conversationally. "You're supposed to be dead."

_I am so screwed._

"I knew you weren't cops, of course. You smelled wrong." His eyes bored into Dean's. "You were calling for Sam. He's your brother, right?"

Dean's heart sped up. _Did this son of a bitch have Sam?_

"I'll pick him up later," Dexter said, as if in reply. He tapped the side of the blade gently against his chin, staring at Dean contemplatively. "I could've turned you in, but law enforcement hasn't had a lot of luck in keeping you locked up."

Dean stared at him, waiting.

"Besides, you're – different." He cocked his head quizzically. "You two – I can't decide if you are truly insane, or if you're just like me." After a moment, he shrugged. "It doesn't really matter. I can't let you go."

The expression in Dexter's eyes shifted, changed. "You see, I've got a little – itch." He gave the blade a little twirl and Dean a boyish, almost charming, grin, then his breathing quickened and he took a tiny step forward. "I was going to take a sample first, but damn, I don't think I can wait!"

Dean thought about telling the psycho that there was nothing he could do to Dean that hadn't been done to him before, and by psychos a whole lot more inventive. But the thinking part of said psycho's brain had clearly just checked out. No point in wasting his breath.

Grin disappearing, Dexter took another step toward Dean. The hunter braced himself for what was sure to be a very long night.

"Hey! Shithead!"

Dexter whipped around in alarm, blade raised, and there was a sudden sharp report. A small hole appeared in the center of his chest, blood spurting out and soaking into his shirt.

"Oh." Dexter looked down at himself in surprise. "_Oh_."

Sam moved into view then, face hard and set, eyes dark with fury. Without saying a word he fired another shot, this time into the man's head. The killer dropped to the floor without a sound.

After a frozen space of time where Sam was clearly considering pumping another couple of bullets into the corpse, he stowed his gun and pulled out his knife. "Dean, you okay?"

Dean moistened his lips. "Do I _look_ okay? Get me out of this crap!"

Sam nodded and started cutting through the tape and plastic. He glanced over at Dean's clothing, tossed into a corner of the room. "Didn't get handsy with you, did he?"

Dean's hands came free. He shot Sam a clumsy bird. "Get me my clothes, bitch."

Sam laughed and obeyed, backing away with a grin when Dean glared at his fraternal offer of assistance.

Dean started pulling on his clothes. "How'd you find me, anyway?"

"I got there when he was pulling out of the lot. Remembered him from the other day and decided it was too much of a coincidence."

"Took you long enough to get in here."

"I couldn't get too close without him spotting me and I lost him." Sam shrugged a guilty apology. "Once I found his car – well, it's a big building." He looked around at the plastic tarps covering the walls, floor and ceiling and grimaced in distaste. "Asshole really had it down to a science, didn't he?"

"Prick's had a lot of practice." Dean pushed his feet into his boots and stared down at the corpse. "Come on, let's burn this fucker. I don't want his crazy ass haunting me."

Sam nodded. "And then?"

Dean pulled a length of plastic down from the wall and knelt down to spread it out beside Dexter. He grinned up at Sam, waggling his eyebrows lasciviously.

Sam sighed. "Besides _that_, jerk."

Dean practically glowed with anticipation. "Before we leave sunny Miami, I want to visit the beach, drink a lot of rum, eat a lot of authentic Cuban food and get laid. A lot. Not necessarily in that order."

They slid Dexter onto the sheet of plastic and then rolled him up neatly. Once he was secure, they stood looking down at him.

"Should've asked Dexter about a good place to eat," Dean said regretfully. He bent to pick up the asshole's legs, while Sam grabbed him under the shoulders. "Let's go, man, I'm _dying_ for a big plate of tamales and a kick-ass mojito! Viva Miami!"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOOO

"_Dexter_ really did have to be first," I explained. "We had _four_, no wait, _five_ requests for him!"

"Sick fuck was gonna _kill_ me!" Dean grumbled.

"I know, baby, it must have been horrible." I pushed the plate of tamales closer to him. "Here, have another one."

Sam snagged one of the tamales. "Come on, man, lighten up. Dude never laid a blade on you."

Dean scowled at him. "We'll see how you feel – hey!" He grabbed my hand. "He's next. Sam gets shit on next!"

"I don't know," I hedged. "It really depends on what hits me when I pick the prompt."

Dean pushed the plate of tamales away and started in on some serious sulking.

I looked at Sam, distressed. I hate it when my boys are unhappy.

Sam shrugged and gestured an okay.

"All right, sweet cheeks." I sighed. "Sam's next."

Dean's grin came out of hiding and he pulled the plate of tamales close again. "Awesome! Can I have another mojito?"


	3. SUNNY DAYS

"Olly olly oxen free!"

Sam heard the sound of pounding footsteps – HUGE footsteps – coming closer.

Eyes wide, he rushed around the corner into the next hall, trying to move as quietly as possible.

He had to get away, _had_ to.

This was worse than Hell, worse than anything he'd ever been through before. He'd almost rather Lucifer was back in his head than be found again by this creature!

"Ssssaaaammmm!"

Closer, oh God, closer!

Sam looked around wildly, saw a closet. He slid into it and eased the door closed behind him, sinking down onto the floor, behind the row of hanging coats. He tried to slow his breathing, quiet the noise, then froze completely when he heard a noise outside the door.

_God_.

_ Please, no._

The door swung open.

Sam held his breath.

The coats were pulled aside and the creature grinned down at him. Tall, _taller_ than tall, yellow feathers, a beak sticking out grotesquely beneath huge bulbous eyes. Sam's shoulders slumped in defeat.

"Hurray!" Big Bird shouted. "I found you! Yay, I win again! Let's play again! Please? Please, please, please? This is the best hide and seek _ever!_"

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOOO

Dean's eyes were wide with disbelief. "Big Bird? I get the sociopathic serial killer and Sam gets freaking _Sesame Street_?"

"I told you I never know what's going to happen when I pick the prompt," I protested, feeling a little guilty. I peeked over at Sam, who was staring steadfastly at the T.V., where an old season one episode of X-Files was playing.

I sighed and looked back at Dean. "So you're telling me you _wanted_ to play hide and seek with Big Bird for six hours?"

Sam twitched. I shoved the bong toward him and watched as he sucked in a lungful and subsided back against the pillows. Looking back at Dean, I raised an inquiring eyebrow. _Really_?

He raised his hands in defeat. Snagging the bong, he took a quick hit. "What's next, lollipop?"

Before I could answer, Sam mumbled, "Whatever it is, better not involve any freaking birds."

"No worries, sweet pea. No freaking birds." I stuck my hand into the ex-fishbowl on my lap that now held the billion and one crossover prompts I'd received. Pulling out a slip of paper, I read it and then looked up at the watching boys.

"Well?" Dean said nervously. "What is it?"


	4. A FEDERAL OFFENSE

Not many people in the bar tonight. A few meth heads, all of whom headed out when they saw Raylan; a couple of serious drinkers too deep in an alcoholic haze to even notice his entrance, and a couple of rough-looking strangers at the pool table in the corner of the room.

When Raylan approached the bar, Boyd's cousin Johnny, slumped in his wheelchair next to the bar, gave him a sour look. "Suppose you want to see Boyd?"

"I do."

Sighing, greatly put upon, Johnny wheeled himself slowly into the back hallway. After a minute he came out and motioned to the lawman to the rear, staring after Raylan with an irritated scowl

When Raylan entered Boyd's office, the shorter man stared at him with a dark glower on his face. "What the hell do _you_ want?"

A little taken back, Raylan stared at him.

"_What_?" Boyd growled.

"Well, you're not usually in-your-face pissed off this early in our conversations." Facing Boyd a little more squarely, Raylan rested his hand on his belt, not too far from his handgun. "You don't have any flowery bullshit for me this evening?"

The tension seemed to drain from Boyd's body and he gave Raylan an odd smile. There was a darkness in his eyes that Raylan hadn't seen before in the man. The hair rose on the back of his neck.

"You know, Raylan," Boyd drawled, "I been having a real shit of a day. I'm real glad you stopped by. You're _just_ the person to help me feel a little better about life."

He flicked a casual hand toward the office door and it slammed shut, lock engaging with an audible snap.

"What the hell?" Raylan pulled his gun out, backing away toward a corner of the room.

Boyd smiled again. His eyes flicked to matte black. He laughed at the suddenly pole-axed expression on the lawman's face. "Yeah, this is gonna be _good_."

He made a sudden slashing movement in the air. Raylan's gun jerked out of his hand and flew across the room.

Another chop. Raylan flew in the opposite direction, colliding with a harsh thud against the desk and spinning into the wall where he lost his hat, and then falling down onto the floor.

Without giving Raylan enough time to do more than struggle to his feet, Boyd sent him pinwheeling to the other side of the room, slamming him hard into the other wall, this last trip ending with an audible snap of bone and a hoarse cry of pain from the marshal.

Boyd walked slowly toward his victim, watching as Raylan struggled to his knees, broken arm hanging limply at his side.

Hand shaking, Raylan reached for the extra gun in his ankle holster, but before he could even get it raised, Boyd kicked the gun out of his hand. It skittered across the room and under the desk.

"Now, now, you play fair. No guns allowed. I'm unarmed, after all."

"Screw you!" Raylan gasped. Ignoring the shrieking of his arm, he threw himself at Boyd, trying to bring him to the floor.

That brave effort got a jeering laugh out of his tormenter. Face alight with pleasure, Boyd threw Raylan to his back. He put a hard hand around his throat and started to squeeze, digging his fingers into the soft flesh, watching with pleasure as Raylan's face turned red.

Then, with a resounding boom, the office door slammed open. Two men burst into the room, both of them plunging straight at Boyd. Before he could move, they'd knocked him away from the lawman and were on top of him, throwing punches.

With a roar, he managed to throw the larger one off and across the room. But in the next moment, with a snarl, the other man was holding a wicked-looking blade to Boyd's throat.

Face twisted in rage, Boyd glared up into his captor's face. "_Winchester_!"

"Ready to go back to hell, dickface?"

Sam lurched to his feet, holding his ribs. "Dean, don't"!"

Raylan, somehow still conscious and scrabbling under the desk for his gun, said hoarsely, "U.S. Marshal! Don't kill the fucker!"

Dean bared his teeth and pressed the blade into Boyd's neck, just enough to draw blood and sparks. "Vacate the premises, asshole!"

With a rabid howl of rage, Boyd convulsed and vomited a black cloud of smoke into the air. Twisting and coiling, it swiftly circled up to the ceiling and slithered through an open air vent. Groaning, Boyd slumped unconscious to the floor.

Dean released the man and stared across the room at his pale-faced brother. "You okay?"

Sam nodded. They both looked over at the shell-shocked lawman staring open-mouthed up at the innocent-looking air vent.

"You all right, Marshal?" Sam ventured.

After a long, tense moment, Raylan said slowly, "What – the – _fuck_?"

Dean couldn't help laughing. He picked up Raylan's crumpled hat from the floor and, after a quick look at the man's dangling arm, placed it neatly on the desk. "Yeah, we get that a lot."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

OOOOOOOOOO

"You _like_ him," Dean accused.

I blushed, but didn't deny it. "I do."

"You know, he's just playing the same basic character that he did in "Deadwood", he said disparagingly.

"Just less angry," Sam chimed in.

"I know." I sighed and smiled apologetically. "I guess I'm just into bad boys."

Dean smirked. "I've been known to be pretty bad myself."

I looked at him mock-sternly. "Dean! That is totally age-inappropriate!"

Sam snickered and Dean jumped on his younger brother, rubbing a hard-edged noogie across his head. Sam squalled for help.

"Dean, be good, or I won't let you do "Baywatch!" I said warningly.

With a gasp, he stopped and looked at me, big green eyes welling up with crocodile tears.

I caved immediately. "Oh, Dean, honey, I didn't mean it. I'd never take the bikini babes away from you!"

His shoulders slumped with relief, followed by a glare at his brother when I added, "But you have to share with Sam!"


	5. CHAPTER FOUR - STAYING DEAD

"What a crock." Dean shot back yet another slug of Jack, glaring around the crowded interior of the vampire bar. "_Fangtasia_. Some asshole invents fake blood and these idiots think vamps are safe to hang out with?"

Sam nodded, staring at the half-empty glass in his hands. "Preachin' to the choir, Dean." He raised his eyes, glanced around. "Keep it down to a dull roar, will you?"

"You think I'm worried about these fangs?" Dean sneered.

Sam leaned forward, eyes glinting dangerously. "No, I'm thinking I don't want them to know who to blame when we burn this fucker down."

OOOOOOOOOO

"Come!"

Pam opened the door to Eric's office. "We may have a problem."

Eric didn't look up from his paperwork. "I'm busy."

Pam came in and shut the door behind her.

Eric sighed and threw down his pen. "_What_?"

"We've got two hunters out front."

Eric snorted contemptuously. "Seriously? That_'s_ your idea of a problem? Tell security to keep an eye on them. I've got more important things to do."

"Eric – "

"You must be losing your edge." Eric smirked when Pam reddened. "You're really that worried about a couple of hunters?"

"Eric," Pam interrupted. "It's Sam and Dean Winchester!"

OOOOOOOOOO

Eric stared at her. Then he took out his cell and hit speed dial one. "Sookie? Have you left the house yet?"

_ No, why?_

"Don't come to Fangtasia tonight! Stay home and lock your door. I'll be sending Bill over to guard you!"

_ Eric, what's wrong?_

"I'll talk to you later." Mightily relieved, Eric hung up.

"Eric, what was _that_?" Pam was flabbergasted.

"I don't want Dean Winchester – that mouth-breathing Lothario! - anywhere near my Sookie!"

"You really think _that's_ our big problem tonight?" she said cautiously.

"I can always buy another bar," Eric said flatly. "There's only one Sookie."


	6. THE TRUTH IS OUT THERE

"She's a demon."

"I don't think so," Fox Mulder said skeptically.

"_Demon_," Dean repeated, eyeing the little girl advancing toward them.

Sam nodded, hand straying to the knife at his belt.

Dumbfounded, Dana Scully stared at the black-eyed little munchkin. The smile on the child's face promised a lot of things - all of them really, _really_ bad. "Mulder, _tell_ me you don't think she's an _alien," _she said, voice quavering slightly.

Mulder shook his head. "She's probably part of some lost sub-species of _homo sapien_. Or maybe the victim of an ophthalmological disorder.

Dean and Sam gawped at him in disbelief.

"Demons are a mythical construct," Mulder continued. "Something created by humanity to explain the bad things in their lives."

"Explain this, moron!" the girl shrilled. She waved a tiny hand at Dean and he flew across the room, slamming into a wall and sliding down dazed to the floor.

Mulder's jaw dropped.

"Crap!" Scully squeaked.

The demon looked at Sam and licked its lips. "Long time no see, Sam."

With no hesitation, Sam pushed Mulder onto her. Red-faced and screaming with rage, the girl clocked the agent viciously and shoved him away but Sam was on her, holding the demon blade against her throat.

Child writhing and gurgling under him, Sam spat out a rapid–fire exorcism and a cloud of black smoke exploded from her. She slumped into unconsciousness.

While Scully bent anxiously over the child to examine her, Sam went to Dean, who'd gotten to his feet and was leaning against the wall.

"You okay?"

"Ribs," Dean grunted. He waved toward the fallen FBI agent. "I'm good. Go check on Mr. GQ."

Mulder was just starting to stir. At Sam's hand on his shoulder, he opened his eyes and stared up groggily.

"You okay, dude?"

The dapper agent nodded and levered himself up to a seated position. "Scully?"

Dana looked up from the child, who was awake now and wailing loudly.

"I think she'll be okay." She eyed her partner. "Are you all right?"

Fox fingered his nose gingerly. "I think my nose is broken."

Sam huffed out an impatient breath and examined Mulder's nose. "Nah, you're fine."

Holding one arm across his ribcage, Dean paced over to them, clamping down hard on his temper. After running a cautious eye over the little girl, he glared at the two shaken federal agents.

"So," he said caustically. "_Demon_."

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

"Big bad FBI guy," Dean snickered. "And look what happens the first time he runs into a demon."

"Be fair, Dean," Sam said pacifically, the corners of his own mouth twitching. "After all, he didn't even know they existed before today."

Dean blew a wet raspberry at his brother. "Bull. Dude's supposed to be all about keeping an open mind, and he comes up with an "ophthalmological disorder"? Come on!"

Sam looked over at me. "Can't argue with that."

I shook my head sadly. "Nope."

"Scully, though," Dean leered. "That's one _hot_ red-headed mama!"

I looked at my watch, nodded and held out a hand to Sam, who sighed and slapped a ten spot into my palm.

Confused, Dean said, "What the hell is that all about?"

"Leigh Ann bet me you'd be drooling over Scully in under two minutes," Sam said. "I thought you'd be steaming at Mulder a little longer. I gave you three minutes."

Dean stared at Sam blankly, then shook his head sadly. "I'm disappointed in you, Sammy."

Sam huffed out an embarrassed breath, looked away.

I patted Sam's hand consolingly, then cleared my throat, ready to move on. "You guys ready to pick the next crossover?"

Dean perked up. "Can we hang out with Scully?"

"Maybe later, sweetie. I've got so many crossover requests, I don't want to do any repeats until I've filled them all. There's a few I don't even recognize, I think they must be overseas shows. _Lexx_? Do you know that one?"

"Uh uh," the boys chimed.

"Well, I'll look into that later." I hesitated. "Listen, I don't want to take advantage of you two."

Dean snickered.

Sam smacked him.

I blushed.

"As I said," I went on, "I don't want to take advantage of you. Are you sure you don't want to take a break? Take a little road trip, have some down time? Is there anything special you'd like to do?"

Sam blushed.

Which of course immediately got Dean's attention.

"What?" he asked intently.

Sam hung his head, trying to hide his face.

"Oh no, you don't," Dean said firmly. "Spill!"

Face even redder, Sam put his mouth next to Dean's ear, whispered a few frantic sentences. I couldn't hear what he was saying, no matter how hard I strained.

A slow, evil grin grew on Dean's face. "Oh yeah?" Giving his brother a congratulatory slap on the arm, he turned back to me, practically purring with satisfaction.

_ Uh oh.  
_


	7. The Death of a Not So Old Friend

"Poor baby." Dean took me into his arms, rubbing my back comfortingly.

I choked back a sob and leaned my head on his chest. "Sucks!" I croaked.

"I know, sweetie." He kissed the top of my head.

"Leigh Ann?" Sam ran into the room, drawn by my piteous wails. Alarmed, he swooped over to the couch and sat down on my other side. "Sweetie, what's wrong?"

I shook my head, unable to say the horrible words.

"Laptop died." Dean said with a speaking glance.

"Oh, crap." Sam was aghast. "Didn't the warranty just run out?"

Dean nodded. "Three months ago."

"Toshiba!" I gasped. "Bastards – three – _suck_!"

"We've only had it seventeen months and this is the third system failure," Dean translated. "It happened twice in the first nine months."

"Shit." Sam joined in the hug. "Won't they replace it?"

I shook my head, streaming rivers of tears and woe.

"Bastards," Sam said feelingly.

"They want fifty dollars just to _talk_ to me on the _phone_!" I managed to gasp out.

"_Bastards_!" the boys said in unison and resumed their hugging and petting.

"Um – Mom?"

My oldest son, Rob, very handsome in his St. Louis County policeman's uniform, stood at the study door. He looked at me in my Winchester sandwich and sighed resignedly. "Hey, guys."

"Hey, Rob," the boys answered.

Wiping the tears from my face, I extricated myself from Heaven and went to Rob, giving him a quick hug. "Hi, honey."

"Sorry about your laptop, Mom."

"Thanks, honey." I drew in a shaky breath. "Toshiba sucks."

"I know, Mom. Melissa sends her condolences, too."

I gave him a watery smile. "Tell her I said thanks."

"Listen, I was thinking we could get you a new laptop on my Best Buy card? You can pay me back a little each month and then you wouldn't have to deal with those Toshiba pricks any more."

My mouth dropped open. "Oh _Rob_, are you _sure_?"

"Sure. I only use it for games and I don't have a lot of time for that right now, what with getting ready for the new baby."

"Oh, _honey_!" I threw my arms around him. "Thank you SO MUCH!"

Sam and Dean came over with matching grins. Dean gave him a friendly sock on the shoulder. "Awesome, dude."

"Yeah, well, writing keeps her sane. Pretty much." My awesome, wonderful and totally amazing son looked around at the Winchester detritus that littered the room, focused on the guns resting on the mantelpiece. "Those registered?"

"You betcha!" the boys answered.

"Good." Rob sighed again and gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "I'll bring the new laptop by after my shift on Monday, okay?"

I beamed up at him. "Thanks, hon! You're my favorite oldest son."

He gave me another hug and left, giving the boys a slightly leery but mostly accepting good-bye wave.

"Good kid," Sam said approvingly.

"The best!" I agreed.

"Feel better?" Dean asked, draping an arm across my shoulders.

"Much!" I gave them each a kiss on the cheek. "Thanks for hanging in through all the crazy. Let me make it up to you. How about I roast you up some lemon pepper chicken?"

The boys whooped and started herding me toward the kitchen.

"And after that," I continued, "I was thinking of getting a new bumper sticker for the Zombie Mobile. Do you think we can find one that says 'Toshiba Sucks'?"


	8. Mal Who?

Inara's fingers drummed nervously on the tabletop. After a moment, she stopped herself with an impatient exclamation.

Why was she so nervous? He was just a man, after all!

True, he was better looking than any mortal man had a right to be. And way too confident for his, or her, own good.

Still and all, just a man.

There was a knock on the door.

Determinedly calm, Inara rose and opened it.

_He_ leaned against the door jamb, smiling lazily at her. "Inara."

Face expressionless, she nodded. "Dean."

He held out his hand and she raised her chin defiantly.

Dean laughed, green eyes dancing with mirth. After a heart-stuttering moment, Inara laughed with him.

Dark eyes tender, she touched his face, ran her fingers across his lips. "Why can I never say no to you?"

He kissed her, sweetly, lingeringly. "You know why."

Inara sighed and settled contentedly into his arms. "I know why."

SUPNSUPNSUPNSUPN

Okay, now don't all you Nathan Fillion fans get on my case here! I like him! It's just - he's not Dean!


End file.
